The torch-light of Passion, how fierce is its power—
It wakens, it burns, it consumes in an hour;
Accursed is the mortal who feels its hot breath,
For the end is destruction—destruction and death.

Unfortunately for the fate of her future, Stella did not see the extraordinary expression on the young man\'s face that caused such mental consternation among her guests.

The thrill which vibrated through her entire being at the touch of his firm hand rendered her incapable for the moment of meeting his eyes.

So strong was the current of magnetism that passed between them that the mingled sensations of fear and bewilderment forced her to withdraw her hand with so much vehemence that she was obliged, from an innate sense of courtesy, to make[Pg 48] a trifling remark to cover the seeming rudeness of her action.

So swift was the transformation in his face, that, when her eyes were finally raised to his, only the sweetest of smiles wreathed his proud, passionate lips, and the glance he bent upon her, was one of mingled reverence and admiration.

In vain the dowagers angled and the maidens blushed and simpered.

Maurice Sinclair moved about among the guests, always charming and attentive, but his expressive eyes followed Stella in her every motion and seemed to devour her beauty with an intensity so deep as to render him unconscious even to his own enchantment.

Only one of the gentlemen present had noticed particularly the greeting between Maurice and Stella, or if they had, man-like, they had attached no significance to the expression whatsoever, and would undoubtedly have reasoned, had their opinions been asked on the subject, that a man\'s face often expresses sentiments foreign to his nature, and that a fellow could hardly be called to account for the idiosyncrasies and caprices of unruly features.

But Sir Frederic Atherton had, for reasons of his own, been a keen observer of Maurice\'s face, and a look of loathing crossed his own noble countenance as he muttered, almost audibly, a word that sounded singularly like "cur." But as he noted the magical effect on Stella, he drew a long sigh which was as promptly checked with a firm closing of the lips, and stepping quickly forward actually stood between the two, then offering his arm to Stella with a laughing remark, he led her away, from a glance, which in his honorable soul, seemed like desecration.

Sir Frederic was nearly forty years of age; a man marvelously blessed by nature, in that he possessed not only a magnificent bearing; a face grand in its determination and strength; but a mental calibre as well, unequaled by another of his associates. To these he had added integrity and justice; winning the confidence of all by his honorable dealings both in social and business relations.

Women worshiped and followed him; Yea, they even flung themselves at his very feet, but thus far[Pg 50] in life Sir Frederic had remained "heart whole and fancy free," while the memory of a good mother and a faithful sister saved him from being, like the majority of men whom women flatter, a chronic disbeliever in the chastity of their sex. Always courteous and gentle, it was no wonder that women and children loved and trusted him. Strong and honorable, it was only natural for men to give him confidence and respect, and he whom his fellow-men regard is sure to be of all men the most trustworthy.

The love of woman may be but the consequence of perfect features, manly proportions or a musical voice, but the regard of man for man comes only as the result of sterling worth.

For some time Sir Frederic had been questioning himself regarding the quality of his affection for Mrs. Sinclair\'s beautiful adopted daughter, but not until he saw her, a delicate flower, exposed if only for a second to the baneful light of an evil eye, did he realize how deeply and dearly he loved Stella. The truth stabbed him like a knife, but after the first sharp pain, and as he felt her hand upon his arm, a joy surged through his being that[Pg 51] the forty well spent years of his life had hitherto failed to bring him.

After a moment\'s conversation with Mrs. Sinclair, Stella was again led away by one of Her Majesty\'s officers for a sprightly polka, and Sir Frederic glad to commune for a moment with his somewhat excited heart, moved a heavy chair farther into the shadow and sat down, while his eyes also watched the graceful movements of Stella, but with very different emotions from those which were rushing through Maurice Sinclair\'s brain at the same time.

Stella had danced with one after another of her guests and was seated for a moment\'s rest on a wide turkish divan in a shaded corner of the room.

It was only a moment, but Maurice\'s restless glance sought her out, and smiling his excuses into the baby face of Lady Isabel Van Tyne\'s youngest daughter, he, much to her disappointment, strolled across the room and stood before Stella with the subdued light of a chandelier brightening his wavy hair into glittering rings about his well shaped head.

"May I call you Stella?" he whispered abruptly,[Pg 52] as he bent slightly toward her and rested one shapely white hand on a pot of rare exotics that helped to shade the sofa on which she rested.

Mrs. Sinclair was passing at that moment and the ring on Maurice\'s finger caught her eye. With a tender smile she laid her hand upon his and whispered softly, "How well I remember that ring, Maurice."

It was puzzling to Stella that he should appear so confused at this simple remark of his mother and withdraw his hand so rudely from her gentle clasp, but Mrs. Sinclair had passed quietly on, and remembering that his question remained unanswered she controlled her thoughts and responded frankly, "Certainly, Maurice, I should feel awkward enough to call you Mr. Sinclair after hearing and speaking the name of Maurice so frequently for so many years. I think, really, I almost consider you my own brother," she continued shyly, although a passing blush and an almost imperceptible hesitancy in her speech gave the pretty avowal an appearance of untruthfulness.

To the many eager observers of this momentary by-play, the avowal, judged by the eye alone,[Pg 53] seemed almost a confession of a dearer sentiment than the sisterly affection to which she had so frankly laid claim.

Notwithstanding her words of Platonic friendship Maurice smiled as if well pleased, not only with the words but their silent contradiction. He sank gracefully upon the divan by her side and in so doing his hand accidently touched hers and in an instant there came again that expression of consuming passion that had darkened his face at their first meeting. Again the mesmeric spell of his presence was upon her. A sensation, this time wholly indescribable, passed over her frame and as before she was powerless to raise her eyes until the cloud was lifted and once more the calm of a summer sky was mirrored on his exquisite face.

Just at that instant a slight crash was heard near by and both started involuntarily from their momentary forgetfulness to ascertain the cause.